Most people ignore beggars. I climbed onto the metro (subway) platform in Paris ready to sit down and wait for the train to come. I saw many empty seats; there was a battered-looking man with a battered guitar sitting on one of the seats. I avoided all eye contact and hurried past him so that he wouldn't speak to me. His throat emitted a rattling, liquid cough and I wondered how long he was for this world. Most people did as I did and steered clear of this poor man.
The trains weren't coming on either side of the platform and the low humming of the meaningless conversations continued. Suddenly, the hunched figure of the man with the cavernous eyes sprang to life as his fingers strummed a chord on the guitar which echoed around the platform. Each person waiting for the trains looked up hesitantly, perhaps worried that paying attention to him would provoke an unwanted tirade of cursing (which is actually a rather common occurrence on train platforms in Paris; unthreatening but unpleasant all the same). The man continued to strum in his seat, and the dissonant chords rounded out, falling into place as blues chords. When he blinked, deep wrinkles radiated around them; he translated that fluid cough into a gravelly Louis Armstrong-type voice, singing words that were supposed to be in English, and while the English wasn't quite accurate, the words were full of soul. One by one, the people on the platform turned to this man with his garbled song and empty eyes, and smiles emerged. His shaking fingers played the strings until he addressed the crowd accusingly.
"Do you want an encore?" was all he wanted to know.
There were many affirmative, laughing responses, and he continued his gravelly blues song joyously. He finished with a flourish, and while everyone applauded, we heard an oncoming train. Most of the singer's real admirers had been on the opposite platform; he raised his voice over the increasing roar of the train and said, "Spare some change, come on, before the train1x"
Several people reached for their wallets and pockets, and within seconds of the train arriving, coins were flying over the tracks towards the musician. The train pulled into the station. The coins bounced and rolled and the man chased his pay. It was well-earned.
